A Letter to the Fallen Israeli Soldier

The words are inadequate, but we thank you.

To the Israeli soldier who gave his life in the war for Israel’s Independence,

You’ve been gone 66 years but no one has forgotten what you did. How you fought for the establishment of a Jewish state. How you stood on the front line without flinching even though you had just emerged from the ashes of Europe. How you left behind your new wife and all of your hopes for beginnings. How you sacrificed everything that you had so that Jews all across the world would always have a home to return to.

There is a grave on a mountain with your name. There is a black and white photograph in a museum with your face. But there is no picture of the struggles that tore at your heart or the ideals that were embedded in your soul. Today, I remember, and I thank you.

To the Israeli soldier who gave his life in the Yom Kippur War,

You were in synagogue when the siren sounded. You were encircled by your tallit and your prayers when the urgent call wove its way through the land. And you didn’t hesitate. You didn’t think twice as you put down your machzor and the promise of tomorrow. You ran to stand beside your brothers. You left behind your own sons and daughters, and the home that you and your wife had spent years building together.

You fought valiantly even though you yourself did not know how much courage you had inside of you. You died so that we could live. There is a fading photograph of you in the living room. You are holding your children. All of them. Two on your back. One in each arm. They have missed you every day since you have left. And no one else can know the pain of those you left behind. But you have been watching them and watching us. Today, I remember, and I thank you.

To the Israeli soldier who gave his life guarding our borders,

Every Friday we wished you a ‘Shabbat Shalom’ as we passed the security checkpoint. Sometimes we brought you a drink or a falafel. You always smiled at us and waved to our children who looked up at you from the backseat. You stood there in the freezing winter rain and in the boiling hot sun. You stood there at night when the clouds hid the stars, and the darkness seemed to go on forever. You stood there in the morning while most of the country slept on. You stood there, and you protected us.

When you left this world, there was a deep gap in our nation. A gap where your smile could no longer be found and your kind words echoed only in our memories. A terrible gap in your parents’ hearts. A grieving gap as your friends dial your number by mistake and realize that you will never answer again. You stood at the gate, and you guarded your people.

Today we guard your memory. I remember, and I thank you.

And to the Israeli soldier who fought in all the other wars for our country, the wars that were named and the wars that remained nameless,

You spent sleepless nights in trenches and endless days in hot tanks. The world tried to push you down but you kept getting up anyway. You gave up the best years of your life, hiking through valleys of mud and running through minefields. You threw your body into the line of fire to save your comrades and fought with terrorists intent on killing us.

You watched your friends die beside you and still got up to train the next day. You cried with the Jews in Gaza and begged them to forgive you, though you were not to blame. You stood before the Kotel with a Tanach in your arms and a prayer in your eyes. You begged for blessings but never got to see tomorrow’s dawn. You sat in jeeps in lonely deserts and woke to horizons so far from home. You faced our enemies in a generation where many don’t even have the courage to face themselves. You left behind jobs and families and dreams. You were afraid but moved forward despite the fear. You protected our homes and guarded our children. You made it possible for all of us to return home. You lived with courage and died sanctifying His Name.

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About the Author

Sara Debbie Gutfreund received her BA in English from the University of Pennsylvania and her MA in Family Therapy from the University of North Texas. She has taught parenting classes and self-development seminars and provided adolescent counseling. She writes extensively for many online publications and in published anthologies of Jewish women's writing. She and her husband spent 14 wonderful years raising their five children in Israel, and now live in Blue Ridge Estates in Waterbury, Connecticut, where Sara Debbie enjoys skiing and running in her free time.

The opinions expressed in the comment section are the personal views of the commenters. Comments are moderated, so please keep it civil.

Visitor Comments: 6

(6)
Vardit,
April 22, 2015 4:08 PM

Thanking the Israeli soldier

Debbie forgot to mention the 67 War... just saying...

(5)
Minna Weinreb,
May 6, 2014 2:01 PM

Written from the heart; beautifully done. Thank you!

This thank you letter is the most beautiful that I have ever read in my entire life. You put words to the tears that we shed over these selfless heroes. You speak for millions of us all over the world. To the families who were left behind with their unfathomable losses. We have you and all of your loved ones in our minds, hearts, and prayers every day. May G-d bring Mashiach and restore the entire Jewish people to the land of Israel as well as resurrecting the dead.May G-d bless and protect all of the Jewish people all over the world; especially our men and women who serve so selflessly always.

(4)
Miriam,
May 6, 2014 11:01 AM

Exquisitely beautiful (to quote Shlomo Carlebach!)

Thank you

(3)
Stewart Bakalchuck,
May 4, 2014 5:12 PM

God bless all who gave their lives

Even here living in the US we thank you for your ultimate sacrifice for Israel and Jews everywhere. I am proud to be Jewish and proud to stand with Israel. God bless.

(2)
Margalith,
May 4, 2014 5:05 PM

Tonight start remembrance day for our fallen soldiers, in respect of them this article. Because of their courage we can live in our land Israel

(1)
Kelly Rebekah ben Maimon,
May 4, 2014 4:59 PM

The words are indequate, but we thank you

I was in Bevis Marks synagogue, London, this morning & peered through the window, in to shul, hoping that the magical number of 10 men, could be achieved to create the unique connection, so familiar to many of us, of which, I have been fortunate to witness thousands and thousands of times beforehand. Unfortunately, only counted 9. But that did not prevent the obvious respect and bond that binds each of these wonderful people together. It was wonderful to witness the warm embraces, smiles, laughter and hearing comments of concern, for friends not present and obvious plans of action to make hospital visits. This included helping non Jewish friends, for which I was drafted in to help, whilst we all had breakfast. Sometimes, it is necessary to help annonomously. Kindness is a gift, Reverend Malcolm Gingold has been given. He seems to light up everyone's day!
We had a couple of visitors join us from America, who commented on the warmth and hospitality on display. That is how it is. Even if arguments take place, there is still a strong connection that binds us together.
For all those wonderful people that gave up so much for Israel - thank you so much! Baruch Hashem, that all these souls, rest in peace for eternity.
Wonderful thought provoking article! Thank you.

I've been striving to get more into spirituality. But it seems that every time I make some progress, I find myself slipping right back to where I started. I'm getting discouraged and feel like a failure. Can you help?

The Aish Rabbi Replies:

Spiritual slumps are a natural part of spiritual growth. There is a cycle that people go through when at times they feel closer to God and at times more distant. In the words of the Kabbalists, it is "two steps forward and one step back." So although you feel you are slipping, know that this is a natural process. The main thing is to look at your overall progress (over months or years) and be able to see how far you've come!

This is actually God's ingenious way of motivating us further. The sages compare this to teaching a baby how to walk. When the parent is holding on, the baby shrieks with delight and is under the illusion that he knows how to walk. Yet suddenly, when the parent lets go, the child panics, wobbles and may even fall.

At such times when we feel spiritually "down," that is often because God is letting go, giving us the great gift of independence. In some ways, these are the times when we can actually grow the most. For if we can move ourselves just a little bit forward, we truly acquire a level of sanctity that is ours forever.

Here is a practical tool to help pull you out of the doldrums. The Sefer HaChinuch speaks about a great principle in spiritual growth: "The external awakens the internal." This means that although we may not experience immediate feelings of closeness to God, eventually, by continuing to conduct ourselves in such a manner, this physical behavior will have an impact on our spiritual selves and will help us succeed. (A similar idea is discussed by psychologists who say: "Smile and you will feel happy.")

That is the power of Torah commandments. Even if we may not feel like giving charity or praying at this particular moment, by having a "mitzvah" obligation to do so, we are in a framework to become inspired. At that point we can infuse that act of charity or prayer with all the meaning and lift it can provide. But if we'd wait until being inspired, we might be waiting a very long time.

May the Almighty bless you with the clarity to see your progress, and may you do so with joy.

In 1940, a boatload 1,600 Jewish immigrants fleeing Hitler's ovens was denied entry into the port of Haifa; the British deported them to the island of Mauritius. At the time, the British had acceded to Arab demands and restricted Jewish immigration into Palestine. The urgent plight of European Jewry generated an "illegal" immigration movement, but the British were vigilant in denying entry. Some ships, such as the Struma, sunk and their hundreds of passengers killed.

If you seize too much, you are left with nothing. If you take less, you may retain it (Rosh Hashanah 4b).

Sometimes our appetites are insatiable; more accurately, we act as though they were insatiable. The Midrash states that a person may never be satisfied. "If he has one hundred, he wants two hundred. If he gets two hundred, he wants four hundred" (Koheles Rabbah 1:34). How often have we seen people whose insatiable desire for material wealth resulted in their losing everything, much like the gambler whose constant urge to win results in total loss.

People's bodies are finite, and their actual needs are limited. The endless pursuit for more wealth than they can use is nothing more than an elusive belief that they can live forever (Psalms 49:10).

The one part of us which is indeed infinite is our neshamah (soul), which, being of Divine origin, can crave and achieve infinity and eternity, and such craving is characteristic of spiritual growth.

How strange that we tend to give the body much more than it can possibly handle, and the neshamah so much less than it needs!